


Night Shade

by okapi



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Anal Sex, Crack Treated Seriously, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Plants, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23774443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: A strange night-blooming plant comes to the Wooster residence.Jeeves/Bertie. PWP. Dub-con for sex pollen.
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Comments: 19
Kudos: 89
Collections: Dick or Treat - Scrohto Region





	Night Shade

**Author's Note:**

> For DW 2020 Dick or Treat and for my bingo card square B-1: sex pollen.

“Oofy Prosser’s cousin is visiting from afar and came bearing gifts. Didn’t really seem the _preux_ thing to refuse it.”

“Naturally, sir.”

Jeeves’ response was, as always, the _mot juste_ because the ‘it’ in question was an odd offspring of Mother Nature, specifically, a bit of herb that could best be described as a large, green head of garlic sitting atop a thick hairy stem which rose from a patch of salad. The whole specimen was contained in a small clay pot.

Jeeves and I inclined our onions towards the garlic for a marinara of closer inspection.

“I don’t know much about these things, Jeeves, unless they featured in the collection of summer wildflowers which won me a prize as a lad, and this one definitely did not. Feature, that is.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would have, sir. I, too, find myself at a loss to name it, but my knowledge on the subject is, admittedly, limited.” Jeeves raised himself to his full height and shifted the kingdom of conversation from plant to animal. “Are you dining in tonight, sir?”

“No, Oofy has asked the lads to gather round and roll out a red carpet for his relation. You?”

Jeeves coughed. “This evening is Silversmith’s retirement dinner, sir.”

“Oh, that’s right. Well, eat, drink, be merry, and give your uncle all my best as he puts himself out to pasture.”

“Thank you, sir."

* * *

“Hullo!” I breathed when I returned to chez Wooster many hours later.

My attention was arrested by a curious pink glow emanating, if that’s word I want, from the sitting room. I noted that the garlic bulb had, at some point in the evening, let down its back hair and unfolded into a display of comely pink petals.

The sitting room was dark, but I could still make out a host of tiny sequins dancing on air, much like a costume that had forgotten to put on its chorus girl before the big number.

I gazed upon the specks, trying to remember the word for pieces of dust, until I forgot what I was trying to remember and simply watched.

My skin grew warm, and I had the strange notion I was wearing far too many clothes.

My vocabulary, never a large repository on the best of days, seemed to dwindle to naught or, given the heat kindling in the Wooster corpus, perhaps it was burning like the library of Alexandria.

Finally, I spoke the only word I could recall.

“Jeeves?”

The sound of my voice hung in the ether, then signed a fleck of glitter’s dance card and waltzed cheek-to-cheek in the air above the bloom.

“Sir?”

I whipped round.

Jeeves was near the front door, stowing his coat and hat.

“Jeeves, the plant! I believe our acorn has fallen from the tree of the poet Shelley’s. Sensitive, I mean to say.”

Jeeves joined me, and I heard his sharp intake of breath.

“A night-blooming specimen, sir,” he observed, “of the lotus family.”

“With…”

I pointed to the pink specks and made a noise.

“Motes,” said Jeeves.

“Motes!” I could’ve slapped my forehead. “Of course, the motes justes!”

“Or perhaps pollen, sir,” amended Jeeves. He stepped to the side of me, advancing toward the plant, and even in the eerie illumination, I could see concern and something other emotion etched in his finely chiseled features.

I put my hand to my collar. Fabric and skin were damp. “I am feverish, Jeeves.”

He nodded slowly. “It _is_ warm. Perhaps the furnace is not working properly.” His voice trailed off at the end. His brow was furrowed.

I was gratified that Jeeves’ colossal brain appeared to be as mesmerised by the flora as my negligible one.

Jeeves!

He transformed, as the magicians say, before my very eyes.

Suddenly, my gentleman’s gentleman was all broad shoulders and strong arms and solid chest. All muscle and skin and beautiful lips and hands. And bulges.

My body stirred violently, and I noted at once I was not alone in my condition.

Jeeves’ chest, too, was rising and falling with as much drama as my own, and a bulge was forming which had nothing to do with the back of his head and the fish-fed brain within.

“Jeeves,” I repeated, this time in hoarse gurgle.

“Yes, sir,” he answered in a tone that was equally strained.

He turned, and I held his white-hot gaze.

Lord, love a duck, I was hot! Spontaneous combustion thy name was Wooster, I wanted to say, but found I could not say anything.

I quickly realised, however, that along with its dictionary of terms, my brain had also misplaced manipulation of clothing fastenings. Even with both hands applied to the task, I fumbled futilely with my collar.

“Will you graciously allow me, sir,” began Jeeves as he closed the very short distance between us, “to suck your cock?”

“Good Lord, Jeeves!” I hadn’t even registered my nether region’s condition until the words had been spoken. I abandoned my collar and looked down. The pride of the Woosters was, in fact, stiff and aching for attention.

“Yes!” I answered.

Jeeves fell to his knees. He freed my erection and took my cock in his mouth.

I was too stunned, too needy, to do anything but stand back and enjoy the show.

Pink snowflakes swirled about us as Jeeves hollowed and sucked and licked and bobbed. He kept his hands on my hips, and I could think of nothing better to do than place my own hands atop his.

Jeeves, as it turns out, is efficient at fellatio as he is at everything else.

“Jeeves!” I warned.

I spent.

Jeeves pulled off. He swallowed.

“May I return the favour, Jeeves?”

“You may and you must, sir.”

Down I went.

Thankfully, after he got to his feet, Jeeves tended to his own trouser fastenings.

In my kneeling position, I was momentarily hypnotised by a pink mote as it performed a spiral twirl, then landed on the wet head of Jeeves’ cock, just beside the leaking slit.

“Sir!”

I was forced to fall back on my education. Eton and Oxford. I do know how to suck a cock.

Jeeves offered a handkerchief when I’d pulled off and grimaced. As is my custom, I deposited his bitter seed in the cambric and, with Jeeves help, rose to my full stature.

“Jeeves, I think we both might be under the weather.”

“I greatly fear so, sir.”

Jeeves seemed to be having trouble tucking his cock in his trousers. I was going to come to the aid of his party, but my attention was momentarily diverted by the plant, whose blossom appeared to have grown while gentleman and valet had been otherwise occupied.

“Jeeves, I think it might be a good idea if you…”

I had every intention of ending the suggestion with ‘…hurled that bally demon plant out of the window,’ but what sprang from the Wooster lips was,

“Diddle me like a schoolmaster.”

“Yes, sir!”

That was how Jeeves and I came to be sitting together on a straight chair, both stripped from the waist down, but oddly enough, still fully dressed from the waist up. I ogled our combined cocks wrapped in our combined spit-slicked hands.

Shirttails were a nuisance, but we soldiered on, stroking, rubbing, coating each other’s shaft and head with spit.

“Jeeves!” I whined and squirmed in his lap impatiently.

He tightened his grip, and we spat like a fountain.

For some reason, that was point I decided to introduce the feudal spirit into the proceedings.

“Jeeves, bedroom,” I ordered, and heading his master’s call, he replied dutifully,

“Yes, sir.”

It took all my strength to make it the few steps to the bedroom.

Jeeves shut the door behind us with a Herculean grunt.

We held each other, panting loud and ragged.

“Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Uh.”

A breeze wafted in from a cracked window, and I found myself sober.

Very sober.

I extracted myself from Jeeves’ embrace.

We stared at each other. Then we stared down at our half-clothed selves.

When Jeeves broke the silence, his voice was even, polite, and very normal.

“Did you have a pleasant evening, sir?”

“Yes. You?” I replied with the same equanimity.

“Indeed. Most agreeable.” Jeeves turned his head.

I saw the slightly anxious glance he gave the closed door.

“You are more than welcome to kip on,” I turned and pointed, “that side of the bed.”

“Most generous, sir. Thank you.”

Now, you might suppose the morning brought an awkwardness between the two members of the household, but there you would be wrong. In fact, I spent most of the following day arriving at the conclusion that the previous night had all been a bizarre dream.

For starters, I woke alone. There was no sign that my bed had been slept in by anyone other than self. Jeeves oozed in at the usual moment with the usual steaming cup of bonhomie and a slice of déjà vu to go with the eggs and b.

“Did you have a pleasant evening, sir?”

“Yes. You?”

“Indeed. Most agreeable.”

And that, as they say, was that.

I breakfasted leisurely, pondering this and that, this being the plant and that being Jeeves and I doing our best impression of alley cats in heat. I bathed and dressed leisurely thinking of same.

When I finally emerged ready for the day, it was well past noon, and there was no plant in the sitting room.

Jeeves displayed his usual impassivity as he went about his usual domestic tasks.

It was all a dream, I decided.

“Mister Little called earlier, sir.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to consult you on a delicate subject. He did not confide in me the exact nature of the matter.”

“Oh, God.” The last thing I wanted was to deal with one of Bingo’s silly problems.

“Tell him I’ve been called to the country today, but he may come by tomorrow.” My conscience twisted at the lie, so I added, by way of penance, “And offer him lunch. A good lunch.”

“Very good, sir.”

The more I thought about it, the more my impromptu excuse took on the shape of a good plan of campaign. “Call the garage, Jeeves. I think I will go for a drive.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

“Jeeves. The two-seater got a puncture, and the garage may or may not be able to fix it, so it looks like I will be spending the night in a lavender-smelling country inn bedroom of fiction. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Very good, sir.”

But the garage was eventually able to fix it, and I decided to head for home.

It was a long journey and well past the Cinderella hour when I arrived. I checked the sitting room. All was quiet and dark. Jeeves had evidently gone to bed, and there was still no plant.

Just a dream, then.

I changed into pyjamas, then legged it the bathroom.

But no sooner had I turned the doorknob and stepped inside when my lungs assailed by a heavy cloud.

“Oh, God!” I gasped.

The air was pink!

I stumbled forwards, then backwards, shutting the door behind me.

I waved my arms to no effect. It was as if the world was looking at me through rose-coloured glasses and liking what it saw far too much.

My body responded in kind. The blood in my veins went from simmer to boiling over in about three seconds, and a goodly portion of the red stuff seemed to be pooling in the Wooster groin. I tore off my pajamas with a savagery I’d scarcely considered myself capable of, spat on my palms like a mad dromedary, and went to work on the pride of the clan with two hands.

Needless to say, my ejaculations, of the seminal and vocal persuasions, were violent.

“JEEVES!”

A reply came through the door.

“Sir!?”

I made a noise that might have been ‘plant.’

“I did not anticipate your return, sir. I thought the safest place for the plant was the bathroom. It is on the far shelf. I’d planned to dispose of it prior to your return tomorrow.”

“Then last night wasn’t a dream?” I wheezed.

“No, sir. I thought it best to not refer to the matter, but I see now I erred in judgement.”

“Jeeves,” I groaned. My head rolled against the door. I dared a peek at the far corner. The plant was like an old relic of the Empire, blowing out puffs of smoke from its pipe, only this smoke was a sparkly pink and the pipe were its tender petals.

The bloom was huge, and I was hard again.

“Jeeves.”

“There is a full jar of lubricating salve on the third shelf of the cabinet, sir,” he said as coolly as ever.

I threw myself towards the wash basin and flung open the door of the cabinet. I searched, frantically, but seemed to be doing nothing but spilling things on the floor.

“I’ll find it for you, sir.”

“Jeeves! You mustn’t—”

“In times of need, my place is by your side, sir.”

I looked up and saw in the mirror a dark silhouette in the doorway.

Still gripping the wash basin, I turned.

“Oh, thank God!”

Jeeves, bless him, was as naked as Adam!

_WHAM!_

The door slammed shut, seemingly of its own accord, but I had little time to wonder at this phenomenon because Jeeves was kneeling on the tile before me.

It was the work of less than a moment to spread his lips with my throbbing girth and use his mouth for my own base gratification.

“Jeeves, Jeeves, Jeeves,” I chanted as I held his lemon in both hands and thrust, feeling the swelling in his cheeks at every intrusion.

He was a beautiful sight, with a kind of pink gauzy halo.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeeves was doing something with his hands, but in that moment, I had no spare mental faculties for anything other than my own pleasure.

But then I felt it, the tip of one slicked finger teasing the puckered entrance of the Wooster posterior.

“Yes!” I urged, bouncing a bit where I stood.

I hung on until there were two such digits, wholly, deeply, and thingagummily buried inside me before I splashed the back of Jeeves’ throat.

No sooner had I drawn my cock out of that wet and wild orifice than I was flipped like a pancake and bent over wash basin and buggered senseless!

“Sir?” ask Jeeves as his saint went marching in.

“S’wonderful, Jeeves. Just what the plant doctor ordered.”

“I am gratified to hear it, sir.”

My skeletal system had turned to jelly by the time that Jeeves moaned his last hurrah.

I clung to the wash basin for dear life.

Jeeves seemed to have disappeared though I still felt his hands on my useless legs.

Then I felt his tongue.

“OH, GOD!” I exclaimed and reached back to press that handsome face farther into the cleft of the Wooster hindquarters.

Jeeves lapped at my hole like Mrs. Tinkler-Moulke’s Pomeranian at a puddle of lager by the bins, which is to say, greedily.

“Jeeves, I hate to say it, but I’m hard again.”

I looked over my shoulder and watched, by the light of the pink miasma, as Jeeves spun round on his hands and knees and lifted his haunches.

I pounced.

I confess that Jeeves and I went on like that for the rest of the night, rolling about the tile, bowling and batting, grunting and groaning and, by any definition, rutting like beasts. At some point, Jeeves had the good sense to turn one of the taps, and it’s not too much to say that the few sips we stole from its thin, cooling stream were all that kept both of us from death by dehydration.

It must’ve been almost dawn when I heard a click. Jeeves groped across the floor, dragging my carcass with him like a lion taking a slaughtered gazelle back to its den, and opened the door.

Even for two Englishmen of a certain mentality, there was no possibility for denial the next day as Jeeves and I woke entangled in a naked embrace on the floor of the hall.

It was the ringing of the telephone that shook us from our stupor.

Jeeves got to his feet and stumbled toward the blower.

“Wooster residence.”

Silence, and then a stream of one-sided conversation.

“Oh, yes, Mister Little. Not at all. That will suit Mister Wooster admirably. We will look for you at half one, then. Yes, sir. No, sir. A slight cold in the chest, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Jeeves appeared in the hall while I was still doing my best impression of a rug.

“Mister Little requests that lunch be served a half hour later than previously arranged.”

“Jeeves!” I wailed. “One of your specials! One for yourself, too, I imagine.”

“Yes, sir. I find myself in need of a strong restorative as well

* * *

“But what are we going to do?” I asked for the hundredth time, looking over my shoulder at the plant, which had returned to its state of innocence as a head of garlic. I was sitting in the hottest bath that the taps could provide, scouring the night’s debauchery off the Wooster person with a rough sponge.

“We must rid ourselves of it,” I said, adding with some trepidation, “if it will go.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

“…so, it come down to this, Bertie. The spark is gone. Rosie and I look at each other like strangers. She’s heading off to America on another promotional tour for her books. No word of my accompanying her. I suppose it happens to every married couple. You just drift apart.”

Jeeves and I exchanged significant glances over Bingo’s melancholy countenance.

* * *

“Are you certain?” asked Bingo when Jeeves had thrust the plant in his hands.

“Absolutely!” I cried. “The delicately nurtured go gaga for flowers. This is an after-dusk-blooming specimen, a lovely pink, uh, what’s the name of it, Jeeves?”

“Night shade.”

“Yes, a lovely pink night shade. Not suitable at all for a confirmed bachelor establishment like this one but perfect for a matrimonial nest like your own. Place it by her bedside and she’ll be putty in your arms!”

Jeeves and I breathed a collective sigh of relief when the door closed.

* * *

Three days later, I received a note from Bingo.

“I think everything’s coming up roses at the Little residence, Jeeves. Bingo reports that the love lights are shining once more and that he will be accompanying the missus to America.”

“I’m very glad to hear it, sir.”

“I wonder if they’re taking the frisky frond with them. It might do very well there.”

“It might, indeed, sir.”

“But if it isn’t, any request to water his plants while he’s gone will be met with a firm _nolle prosequi_.”

I heard a soft cough like that of a sheep trying to clear its throat of a lotus leaf on a far hillside. I turned to see Jeeves looking like a randy goat in sheep’s vestal virgin clothing.

“Perhaps just the once, sir?”

A collage of memories drenched in a rose-coloured patina sprang to mind: lips and tongues and cocks and holes and the slide of skin-on-skin.

“Perhaps. After all, you and I are sensitive plants ourselves, aren’t we, Jeeves?”

“On rare occasion, sir.”

I saw in the reflection of the well-polished coffee pot that Jeeves and I were both flushed, our cheeks an enchanting shade of night shade pink.

We spoke no more of the matter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
